


Get Burned

by Douxgivre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 1950s, AU, Biting, Blood, M/M, Rockabilly, Smoking, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 17:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8170736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Douxgivre/pseuds/Douxgivre
Summary: Derek Hale wants to restore the honor of the Hale Name.Theo Raeken remains a mystery as always.Jordan Parrish is caught carnally between the two.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Tharrishek 1950s Rockabilly AU that literally no one asked for but I wanted to write! Enjoy

Theo Raeken is trouble. He has a sneer that could make a grown woman faint, a smile that makes the girls panties drip, and a bad habit of speeding his sleek motorcycle past the cemetery every Tuesday at 6:30 PM on the nose... and getting caught by his favorite Deputy.

Jordan Parrish throws on his lights and has to punch the gas to catch him. He tails Theo Raeken for 3 minutes before he finally pulls over. Theo takes out a pack of smokes and lights one, but not before offering Parrish one, which he turns down.

"Is there a reason you've pulled me over officer? He says, eyes filled with smoke, his mouth ablaze with playfulness. He crosses his arms and waits for a response.

Jordan is always stunned by how flippant Theo is and gets out his ticket pad.

"Mr. Raeken this is the fourth time this week I've caught you speeding and it's only Wednesday, how many more tickets can I give you?"

"A guy as pretty as you should learn to lighten up sometime!" Theo says between a drag of his cigarette and blowing the smoke away from Parrish.

"Lighten up? I'm enforcing the law Mr. Raeken. What would you have me do?"

"I'm a good driver deputy, I could take you out on the back sometime and show you if you'd like?" He says patting his motorcycle as hebrings the smoke up to his lips one last time and then crushes the cherry out into his hand.

"Would you like that?" He says with smoke billowing from his nostrils.

Parrish might be inexperienced in a lot of things, but he isn't naïve.

"What are you playing at?"

"I'm trying to get out of this ticket. And any more actually. You've never been for a ride on a motorcycle have you? I have an extra helmet" he proposes as he approaches Parrish. He looks ... Intimidating, Parrish thinks. Yeah that's the word. Theo presses forward until Parrish is completely backed up against his police car. Theo looks down and takes a hold of his gun. "Has anyone ever held your gun besides you Jordan?"

Jordan knew where this was going and couldn't stop it. He didn't know if he wanted to.

"Just me. And it's deputy Jordan Parrish, Raeken."

"Well Mr. Deputy, I think it's time someone shows you the ropes." His hand travels downward and rubs almost innocently against Parrish's package, hidden lasciviously in his uniform.

"Wh-what are you doing? I ain't no fairy!"

"Fairy? No, any magic that happens between us is just two fellas, helping each other out. I scratch yours, you scratch mine. No more tickets and I'll promise you won't be able to get tonight out of your head."

Parrish gulps and steadies himself against the cruiser and closes his eyes, suddenly flushed, and growing warmer. He wants this in a way a kid wants to touch the hot stove -- danger has a way of intoxicating the curious. And Parrish was most indeed curious about what sex felt like. At the same time he can't acknowledge this is happening. If anyone found out he'd be canned. Hell, he'd be dragged out to the town square and beaten probably. So maybe if he closes his eyes he'll experience it, but in his own reality, not on the side of the road against his state issued police car, maybe in a hotel room in Hawaii on his honeymoon with that Martin girl. 

His reverie is broken short by the sudden feeling of cool air and soft, slick wanderings around his jewels. It's startling and a bit weird but he likes it so he just screws his eyes up tighter and hopes this punk kid doesn't stop. He must express this out loud because Theo snorts.

He goes to the root of his shaft, just to flex his skills. When Theo is dedicated, he takes matters very seriously. He slides up and down over and over, sucking hard at Parrish's head. It's swollen and purple the way it pops out of his mouth making the rudest, most explicit noises Parrish has ever heard and, were he not a part of this transaction, would have most certainly used the extent of the law to stop. And in three, two, one more instants it’s over in a rush of endorphins flooding his body, making him buzz like he had too much to drink reminding him of that one time at the public house with the sheriff and the other deputies after a huge bust.

The post-orgasm buzz fades quickly he finds out, and the realization of what he's just done hits him so hard he's tossing Theo off of him to zip up his uniform, adjust his hair and badge in his side view mirrors and hop in his car without so much as a good bye. Theo’s eyes glitter yellow before simmering back down to his usual earthy green. He flicks his tongue up and out to mop up some wayward jizz that ended up below his lips, it tastes better than he was expecting.

~~~~~~~~~~

The smoke rises from his mouth in a gust of wind as Derek hale walks down the street. He's burly, wearing leather on his back and metal in his ears so people steer clear of him, even crossing the street to avoid bumping into him. He is the visual antithesis to the sensibilities of this small quiet town and as many stares as there might be, there are also averted gazes because these gals know what he's packing, and the very thought of someone like him was frighteningly exciting.

 

He flicks out a stub of cigarette and one last sigh of smoke into the air above before walking into the diner. It looks rundown, but he's heard from his uncle that the food's cheap and there's a delectable deputy that eats breakfast there at 6:30 a.m. in the morning. He orders a coffee "blacker than my jacket" and a piece of toast with jam. The waitress isn't shy and even puffs out her chest at him when she lays it in front of him, "anything else, sir" she pops her gum and winks. His hazel eyes shift slightly in the light to a steely blue and back before she really noticed.

"Yes, actually. I'm looking for a deputy, a one Jordan Parrish? I hear he eats here every morning. I'd like to talk to him," he finishes his statement with a gigantic bite of toast and continues attacking it while the waitress goes on.

"Jordy? What could you want with someone like him? He's a sweet kid, if a little shy. Usually comes round here about 6:30. It is weird he isn't here now that you mention it. You could always try the station."

 

"Me and pigs don't get on well," he growls as he shoves the last of the toast into his mouth. "Thanks anyway."

He grabs a quick glance of his hair in the diner window to make sure not a strand of his slicked back hair was out of place.

The waitress is so stunned that she doesn't even notice the 20 dollar bill under his tab before she tries to toss the ends of the crusts into the garbage. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A bell tinkles when he enters the shop, and an old woman immediately barks at him, almost enraged at the sight of the man from across the antique parlor.

"Why have you returned to beacon hills, Derek hale?" It's a tiny shop that's really a hole in the wall -- a labor of love more so than something to really make money. Or perhaps, something more. Somewhere to purvey the exotic, the supernatural. Herbal teas and stones of power, crowns of curses and mirrors of forgotten ghosts.

 

"Mind if I smoke?" He says striking a match and bringing the flame to the stick in his mouth.

He snarls at the bitter taste and the buzz that comes and fades just as quickly.  
"If you must, I have to admit the smell is pretty strong here. I don't really blame you for drowning it out." She's wiping down the counters as she speaks, anything to keep her hands busy instead of trying to throw the werewolf out.  
"It's driving me insane, but I had to follow it here. I wanted to know, is there anyone else in town I should know about ? Anyone else looking for the hound?”

"Do not go near that boy Derek. Even your uncle who loves playthings won't touch him. He's none of your concern."

"Having a hellhound on the side of the Hale family is exactly what we need right now. Talia doesn't have very many fans and if we are to be in good graces with the Council; Deucalion, Thomas, the Wildevers. We need to be able to bargain.”

"Then wait for a hunter to do their job and swoop in at the last second. And that is all I will tell you, she says opening the door to the boutique and roughly shoving the tall brooding man outside where the smell grows stronger in his nostrils.

He brings the cigarette up to his lips over-handed and breathes deeply into his lungs and pushes smoke out his nose, the boner in his pants almost growling at the sensation of smelling that sweet heat the deputy was putting out. It was almost time for his third wank of the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He saunters back to the seedy motel he's staying at and showers off the smoke which he loathed, all the while caressing his toned body one muscular inch at a time. He pictures a sandy haired boy not much younger than he on top of him, biting into him with large canines and glowing brimstone eyes and he bites into his forearm, splattering blood and cum over the shower stall. He growls into his forearm, teeth firmly lodged into the skin relishing the feeling and pulls at his dick as he rides out his orgasm.

When he's too sensitive to continue, He throws water at the mess he's made until it's mostly washed away and he rinses off, now smelling like shampoo.

There's a laundromat nearby and he takes a walk down in just a wife beater and casual pants.The scent seems fainter at night when it cools off, not ignited by the daylight and he relishes in smelling the slight crispness to the summer air, unhindered by smoke. He opens the door to the laundromat and pops in two quarters for two machines, putting detergent and some clothes in both. The little bell at the door jingles once and Derek is consumed by fire shooting straight into his loins.

Oh.

This must be Deputy Parrish.

He doesn't dare shift his gaze forward towards the man, and he doesn't dare move an inch for fear of doing something he'll regret.  
Derek pauses, with the washer door open and hopes the deputy is smart enough to not approach him, but fate would have other plans for him, as he plops down a basket right next to him and greets him with a sunny hello. His nose flares and he's overwhelmed so of course he just scowls and tries to finish putting his clothes away.

Derek thinks Parrish seems upset at his reaction and afterwards he quiets. Derek finishes his laundry in a daze and manages to stumble out into the fresh air, taking big gulps and lighting a cigarette, shakily before heading towards his car. He paces in the parking lot in the dark and hopes Parrish doesn't see him but he's waiting. It's too soon, this isn't how he wanted to meet him. He wanted the chance to be prepared, not caught off guard. This was going to end badly, he thought as he hears the laundromat door jingling open.

 

Parrish's head peaks out of the laundromat door and spots Derek , "Hey mister, you forgot something!" He runs out; inside he debated whether to bring it back out or not since the swarthy man was so rude to him. But there was always the thought that if he were in his position, he would want it returned.

Parrish slows his jog when he reaches Derek, really getting a good look at him. His hair looks soft and it falls to one side, but his ears, they are pierced with metal in two spots in one ear with silver hoops dangling below which he has never seen on a man before. He has dark thick eyebrows that sit over intense, succulent hazel eyes that shift in the dying light of the summer day. He has a leather jacket on and a lit cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, which he brings up to his mouth before saying

"Thank you".

Jordan hands him a wallet. It's old and the tattered leather is emblazoned with a weird spiral. "Yeah, um, I just gotta..." He gestures in the direction of the building and goes to run back to it.

Derek, slowly starting to lose his grip on control stops him with one hand on his shoulder as he's turned around and drags him close to his body. Parrish struggles but isn't able to throw him off. 

"What are you doing?! Let me go?" Derek’s spiraling and it’s everything he knew it would be.

"Easy, chien, Je te nuis pas." The words like a memory come flooding to him and his cock is struggling to burst against the fabric of his pants. He’s panting heavily, focused intently on his prey.

Parrish doesn't speak French but for some reason there's this eerie calm in the words the strange man said that makes him stop fighting.

"Mon chien, tu étais trop difficile trouver." He says, leaning into his neck and sniffing deeply, one hand creeping down to Jordan’s crotch to rub it roughly. He likes, no relishes it. Every word burning him brighter than before.

"Je te veux aider. Maintenant tu as des pulsions que tu ne peux expliquer pas."

"M'aide, mon loup" Parrish moans, too hot to care about where he learned to speak French.

Derek's teeth slide out and he growls hungry, biting lightly at first, nipping tiny bites, then sinking in slowly -- profoundly into the deputy. The sweet copper taste of hell hound blood; wet and tangy makes his eyes roll up into his head and a growl escapes his throat, almost like a purr. His hand delves into Jordan's shorts and strokes roughly at his dick. It's pulsing hot and he moans into his neck one more time before pulling his teeth out, and eliciting Parrish's loud release into the night air.

They are panting as they separate. Parrish just stares at him like he's scandalized at what they just did.

"What. The hell. Was that? Why does this keep happening?"

"Keep happening? You've had weird sex in a parking lot with a stranger before tonight?" Jordan doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry or get a bandage for his neck.

"Not a parking lot and certainly not this queer, but yes. This past Wednesday this punk kid, well. He...." Gestures to his mouth and Derek understands.

"Ah, yes. Well hellhounds in mating season smell quite good to other supernatural creatures. Your scent permeates this whole town. You're intoxicating to us. I wasn't planning on it happening quite like that."

"Supernatural creatures? Hellhounds?" He pauses for a moment and says "Nope. Naw. No way." Before briskly heading towards the laundromat again, right far away from Derek.

He goes to open the door but a hand presses against it. He pulls out his pistol and points it at the taller man.

"You're crazy, get away from me or I'll shoot you!"

In a flash Derek grabs the gun and tosses it aside like a toy.

"You don't need that." He flashes his eyes and let's his fangs descend from his gums, brow sharpening, sideburns unfurling. "You drugged me. You injected me with something. I'm hallucinating" is the best Parrish can muster before tears well in his eyes, but don't fall.

"What's happening to me." Derek grabs a hold of him and leads him inside by the hand gently. They sit on one of the benches and Derek starts explaining the story of hell hounds.

"Hell hounds are the guardians of death and hell. They are the physical manifestation of supernatural energies of souls who have died colliding with the physical realm. In ancient times, hell hounds were regarded with great esteem. They were often used to seal deals between two supernatural families because during mating season they have an insatiable appetite. To receive another family's hound was a great gift. Tasting the blood is like tasting pure sugar wrapped in sexual ecstasy to some supernatural creatures. To others, it's poison so you can imagine how many people were out to get a hell hound."

He pauses.

"Sooooo people are going to hunt me down? Like you? Which by the way, who are you? I didn't even know your name before you shoved your hand...” he's flustered,

Derek seemingly finds this very amusing, based on the smirk that crosses his face.

"My name is Derek Hale. My family has lived in beacon hills for generations. I recently moved back because I heard you were here. I didn't want things to happen so suddenly. We should have talked before, but your smell was too much, I physically couldn't resist you. Even smoking couldn't drown it out.”

“And now? Why aren't you jumping my bones?”

“Because the fire has been quenched. In a few hours it'll rise again like a signal flare to any supernatural creatures to come take you. I'm honestly surprised you've only had one more instance.”

“Yeah, wait. Supernatural. So, Theo is a werewolf like you?”

“There are more than werewolves out there. He could have been anything. That's why I want you to go back to my loft with me and stay there for the time being.”

“How am I supposed to be sure that you're not the one out to get me? You did bite my neck.”

“Because I already got you, and you liked it.” He grins at this. “I also stuck around. The other guy clearly didn't want anything to do with you if he really wanted the claim.”

“So you won't bite me again?”

“I can't promise that. What happens when we are wrapped in the heat of the Ember is anyone's guess. Next time, you won't finish so fast though. As your flame gets quenched it comes back stronger the next time, building up for a whole week until the last day.”

“What happens on the last day?”

Derek is hesitant, but says without inflection, “Midsummer. It's the hell hound's high holiday. It's the hottest day of the year and It's also the day you'll die.”


End file.
